An Exchange
by terrified
Summary: A Molliarty one-shot: Jim Moriarty comes across a familiar face and realises, from just one exchange, that it is not merely Sherlock Holmes that connects them, but a connection of their own.


_**A/N:** I'm so sad I've written so few stories this year. It just shows the state of my heart and mind. :( Let's hope 2018 will bring some sort of writing revival for me. That said, I was really inspired by a gif-set on tumblr and stayed up all night to write this piece. The Christmas mood seems to have affected me slightly so we have some of that also. Hope everyone's doing well and happy holidays to you all. Wishing everyone health and happiness :) xx_

* * *

 **An Exchange**

It was not often that Jim Moriarty paid a visit to the tailor's. Usually, tailors were chauffeured to his residences at his whim, fitting him with the sharpest suits only slightly less defined than his own dark, handsome features. This evening, however, after receiving a rather urgent (but well-paying) request for his _services_ , he had decided to swing by the less bustling but no less expensive Conduit Street in London where the well-lit sign of a personal favourite glimmered in the slowly dimming evening.

"Westwood," he murmured to himself as he stepped out his car and made his way into what seemed a deceptively small shop space.

His people had made calls ahead, of course, which meant he was ushered swiftly to a private suite in the basement floor of the shop where only an elite handful of clients were permitted. Jim's preferred tailor was already there and waiting with patterns and fabric all lined up, ready for his client. There were very few pleasures Jim had in life that did not involve explosives, grand theft or the occasional mass murder. A brand new suit was one of those rare few.

"I know it's for work," Jim said with a smirk, stepping forward to study the luxurious array of fabrics, "but you know, no harm in an early Christmas present, is there?"

* * *

The sky had darkened considerably by the time Jim was done. What with having had his measurements taken and having spent an arduously long time picking out every single detail, down to the angle of the lapels on his dinner jacket. Led by a member of his security detail, Jim finally emerged from the basement floor back up to the main shop space. Considering how near it was to Christmas time, there were surprisingly few people. Jim took a moment to scan the area briefly, noting the two shop staff standing politely by the door ready to see him out and the three random customers browsing.

As Jim made his way to the door, he walked past an oddly familiar dark brown ponytail. He paused and turned slightly to study the person who had caught his attention. She was staring intently at the glass cases of accessories that held watches, cufflinks and tie pins. There was a slight frown etched on her forehead as she studied each item, row by row, section by section.

Immediately, Jim took a moment to run through all the faces he had in his memory, trying to identify possible connections he might have to her that would have caused her to be familiar. It struck him in a matter of seconds who she was. Her connection to him was not an ordinary one and, as with all his little compulsions, Jim simply _had_ to know if he was right.

"Excuse me," he asked in his politest voice as he flashed a shy half smile at her.  
"Oh, sorry, am I in your way?" she asked back.  
"No, no, it's just, um…"

Jim realised his little compulsion had failed to stop him from realising that while she was a familiar face to him, he was a _complete_ stranger to her. Not wanting to cause her any alarm, he blurted the first thing his spinning mind could come up with.

"I…work at Barts' and just, um, thought you looked familiar," he said with a slightly awkward smile.  
"Oh!" she remarked with a friendly smile, "Have we met then? I'm not very good with names, sorry."

The warm and genuine response to his words caused his mind to stumble a little bit, much to his annoyance. His mind never tripped, yet here he was, suddenly incapable of parsing a proper sentence – _again._ She seemed so – and he had never found an occasion to use this word before – _lovely._

"Oh, no, no we haven't, I…was assigned to do some software updates at the lab and, just remembered seeing your face…somehow," he said with an awkward laugh and inwardly relieved he was fairly casually dressed or this would have never passed.  
"I see, well, I don't seem to remember seeing you though…" she said, looking a little apologetic.  
"That's all right," Jim replied, "We IT people are used to being in the background, you know, doing all the small things when no one's watching…"  
"I _do_ know, actually," she said, smiling, "It's the same at pathology. Well, for me, anyway."

It was her turn to chuckle awkwardly as she realised she was talking to a complete stranger about her work woes in the middle of her Christmas shopping. Jim watched her, slightly mesmerised at the cool, calm collectedness she seemed to exude. Not to mention, her impossible _loveliness_.

"I'm Jim, Jim from IT," he murmured, extending a hand without taking his eyes off her.  
"Molly. From, I suppose I just told you, pathology," she replied, receiving his hand and shaking it firmly.  
"It's nice to meet you," said Jim with a little nod of his head.  
"Same here," Molly remarked, "It's nice to know you recognised me. Not many people do."

This was the point where, after having had his compulsion satisfied by confirming her identity, Jim should have been making his way out of the shop. Instead, he found himself rooted where he was, trying, with some measure of difficulty, to make conversation.

"Why wouldn't they?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

 _You don't **not** remember loveliness like that_, he thought.

Molly shrugged gently and did not seem to have an answer. It caused their conversation to plummet to a decrescendo which, to Jim's surprise, caused him to panic slightly.

"So, er, what are you shopping for then? Christmas presents, I suppose?" he asked, changing the subject  
"Yes, actually," she said, her eyes lighting up slightly in excitement as she returned her gaze to the display case.  
"For someone special?" Jim asked, moving to join her in peering at the endless rows of accessories resting on velvet.  
"Maybe. I don't know," she answered a little stoically. That frown he had observed earlier seemed to have returned.

Her change of tone caught him by surprise. Why did her spirits seem so low doing something people usually did in high spirits?

"Relax," Jim began, offering a gentle smile in her direction, "whoever he or she is, if they...what's the word, _care for_? Love? Yes, sorry – if they love you, it doesn't matter what you get for them in the end. A gift, is a gift, is a gift! And it'll always be wonderful…I imagine."

Jim was shocked at the deluge of words that came out of his mouth. The content, in particular, was what shocked him the most. The barrage of sentiment almost nauseated him and yet, he wanted so very much to see the light return to her eyes.

"That's…very nice of you to say," Molly replied, turning to smile back at him. "Thank you for the reminder."

Her smile caused his panic earlier to subside, sending a comforting, warm current under his skin.

"Cheer up, yeah?" said Jim, nudging her elbow gently, "You have nothing to worry about, unless of course it's for Sherlock Holmes, then you're in trouble."

A bad attempt at humour was probably Jim's best excuse as to why the detective's name had suddenly emerged in his conversation with Molly. Yes, Sherlock Holmes _had_ been the initial connection between them but he was now no longer their _only_ connection. It did not matter that Molly had a place in the organised sea of faces Jim stored in his head purely because he knew she was someone the detective had elected to work with. It certainly did not matter now. They now had their _own_ connection – and it was devoid of Sherlock Holmes.

"Am I?" she answered a little too quietly.

Turning to face Jim, her face was serious, almost pleading for an answer to a question she herself was not sure about.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked again.

Her expression troubled Jim. He had hit a nerve and it did not please him. He studied her face once more and realised he had underestimated _her_ connection to the pesky detective.

"You _are_ getting something for Sherlock Holmes," he remarked, a little aghast at himself for not having noticed it earlier.  
"I am," said Molly with a soft, resigned smile on her face. "I know I shouldn't. But I am."  
"Hm. I see."

In spite of the inexplicable displeasure it gave him, Jim decided he was going to help her.

"Well then, let's find a gift for the world's best detective, shall we?"

* * *

Jim was seated in one of his lavish studies, reclined in an obnoxiously upholstered arm chair while his gaze flitted between a few glowing screens that hung on the wall. He was dressed to the nines, of course, in his new Westwood suit. There was a Christmas gala for London's elite that he had been tasked to rob, which meant he simply had to dress for the occasion. The events of the gala unfolded on one of the screens as several of his other Christmas 'jobs' played on the other screens.

Everything had gone to plan. All detonating devices had activated without a hitch, the safes that required breaking in were all broken into and the few politicians' wives that had to be kidnapped were all safely in their holding areas.

"A happy Christmas indeed!" he exclaimed to himself, popping open a bottle of champagne and for a moment, was tempted take a swig from the bottle.

"Not in Westwood," he said, smirking as he poured himself a full flute of golden champagne.

The mini-celebration was briefly interrupted by his phone buzzing. He glanced casually over only to pick it up urgently once he had seen whom it was from.

"Sir?" came the voice from the other end.  
"What happened?" Jim asked with gritted teeth.  
"We might have to come take the package from you, sir."  
"How bad is it?" he asked quietly, so tense he quite forgot to breathe.  
"I think you should see the footage yourself, sir. We're uploading it now to screen four."

Jim dropped the phone onto his desk and rushed back to his seat, ignoring all the flurry of activity and focused solely on screen four. The footage was short and when it was over, Jim picked the bottle of champagne up and flung it with all his might towards the screen, smashing both bottle and screen to pieces.

The screen was dead and shattered but the few minutes of footage played back like a nightmarish loop in his head. There was the image of the _lovely_ Molly he remembered from the shop, in her perfectly over-adorned hair and far-too shiny dress, standing in that crummy old flat in Baker Street. Then the image of Sherlock Holmes came into view, holding his useless violin which he only used for showing-off. Then came the nightmare as Jim saw Sherlock reach recklessly for Molly's thoughtfully wrapped gift before opening his mouth, sending out a barrage of knives that stabbed Molly, _lovely_ Molly, repeatedly in her heart.

"She spent _so_ long… and so much of _herself_ on it, Sherlock Holmes, you _idiot_ ," Jim cursed between sharp, angry exhales.

Then came a quiet knock on his door followed by the voice of one of his staff asking if he could come in.

"Yes, yes, come in. I've got it right here," said Jim, collecting himself as he went to one of several safes under his desk and opened it. From inside, he retrieved a small square box, beautifully-wrapped and with a satin ribbon tied around it.

"You know what to do?" Jim said quietly.  
"Yes, sir."  
"Good. Off you go. And _no_ mistakes."  
"Of course, sir."

* * *

It was probably three in the morning, three hours past Christmas when Jim Moriarty heard his phone buzz. He had been too worked up to sleep and dozed off fitfully in his study. Although partly inebriated from champagne, he was filled to the brim with anger and anxiety. With slightly clumsy fingers, he managed to swipe his phone screen, unlocking it to reveal the text message he had been waiting to receive.

 _I don't know how you found my desk and  
managed to sneak it in, but thank you for  
the beautiful gift and your Christmas card.  
Thanks for leaving your number too  
or else I wouldn't have been able to  
find you to thank you! I'm sorry for  
texting you so late, by the way. I was  
called in for an urgent autopsy, government  
business apparently. It was an unusually  
difficult autopsy, for various reasons…  
so I was really pleasantly surprised to find  
your lovely gift at the end of it all :)  
Thank you, Jim. I needed it.  
More than you'll ever know.  
I hope you had a good Christmas. x_

There were so many things that rushed through Jim's mind. There was the thrill of hearing from her and knowing she was a little better, then there was the rage that came roaring back, knowing she had been the one called in for Adler's autopsy. After _everything_ Molly had been through, the Holmes brothers had the nerve to call her in at midnight. Jim almost wished he had shifted his plans and faked Adler's death at a different time.

 _Damn it_ , _Jim_ , he thought to himself. _You should have known. They would only call Molly in_. Jim felt a sinking ache in his chest when he realised that after everything that had transpired that evening, Molly was also probably the only pathologist who did not have a place to be at during Christmas.

"You'll pay for this, Sherlock. And yes, you too, Mycroft," Jim whispered to himself, spinning his mobile phone in his fingers. "But not now. There are more important matters at hand."

 _Sounds like you've had a rough night. Where are you now? – JM_

 _Still at Bart's. Sorting paperwork and frankly just too exhausted to get up to go home. – MH_

 _Stay there. I'll pick you up and take you somewhere. Or at least take you home safely. – JM_

 _Normally, I would refuse. But I think if I don't accept, I might actually stay here till New Year's. Hah. – MH_

 _I'll be right over_. - _JM_

* * *

It was good to be a criminal mastermind sometimes. It certainly helped when Jim needed to get to a certain place in a very short amount of time. Before he knew it, he had been zoomed to Bart's and was soon charging down the corridors towards the pathology office where he knew Molly was. When he finally arrived, he found her with her head resting gently on her tired, folded arms as she slept quietly at her desk.

"Molly?" he said gently, touching her on the elbow ever so slightly.

Molly looked up with a start, only to relax into a smile when she saw it was Jim. She got up from her seat and moved to hug him.

"You were right," she whispered against his shirt, "I _did_ get in trouble."

Jim had to constantly remind himself that she did not know what he _did_ know. That he knew how Sherlock Holmes had left her in ruins. The cruel words of the detective still rang in his ears and it took all of Jim's willpower not to send for him to be murdered in cold blood. Not now, at least.

Hesitantly, Jim reciprocated her hug, carefully wrapping his arms around her. When he felt the full warmth of their bodies together, he almost laughed at how hesitant he had been to hold her just moments before. Slowly, but no longer hesitantly, he moved one hand up to touch the back of her neck, relishing how soft her hair felt against his fingers. Jim shut his eyes and took the moment in, breathing evenly as he tried to piece all this new sensory information together.

"Bad day was it?" he asked, turning slightly so he could smile against her hair.

Molly laughed quietly and then sighed, still not moving from where she had relaxed against his chest.

There was the temptation to kiss her gently on the top of her head but even Jim knew that would have been too alarming for both of them. Still, there was something so comforting about the soft waves of hair that cascaded all around her.

"Would you like to have coffee?" he continued, allowing his fingers to gently weave through the ends of her hair.

Before Jim could fully relish the sensation of her chocolate tresses between his fingertips, Molly pulled herself away from him gently, placing two hands on his chest and looked right at him.

"It's almost 4am, Jim…" Molly replied with a chuckle.  
"Sorry, I just thought –"  
"Perfect time for a black coffee, in my opinion…" she continued, smirking as a small spark seemed to return to her eyes.

That little spark was all Jim needed.

"Let's go then. I know a perfect place for black coffee actually," he said with a grin.  
"Oh? Where?" Molly asked, amused.

Jim offered his hand to Molly, which she took without hesitation. The spark in her eyes grew a little more each time he looked at her and it made _him_ smile.

"Italy," he said, a bright grin spreading across his face.  
"Sorry, what?"  
"I'd been meaning to tell you this Molly but, I'm a criminal mastermind with jets at my disposal and I'm flying us out to Italy right now for a coffee because I think you deserve one…" he said, eyes shining cheekily at her.

Molly's eyes widened and she dropped his hand, perplexed, causing Jim to shake his head as he chuckled to himself.

"I'm pulling your leg, Molly," Jim said with a laugh, "The only coffee we'll find now is the one in the vending machine at Bart's."  
"I wouldn't have minded Italy actually" Molly replied, chuckling herself, "Sounds rather lovely to me."  
"Did you not hear the part about… _criminal mastermind_?" Jim joked, although a part of him was genuinely curious to know how she felt.

Molly shrugged her lab coat off and threw it on her desk. Sweeping her hair up into a quick twist, Molly looked right at Jim and smiled gently at him.

"As far as I'm concerned, Sherlock Holmes is the only criminal here," she said quietly. "And right now, a coffee in Italy with you sounds absolutely divine…"  
"Then Italy it is," said Jim, his own true spark slowly showing in his eyes.  
"What?" Molly exclaimed with a laugh.  
"There's a lot I should be telling you, Molly," said Jim, holding her gaze, "But do you trust me enough for a coffee together?"

Molly paused for a moment and studied his face. There was something she had not seen in his expression before, but it seemed neither foreign nor frightening.

"Yes," she answered finally, "I do."  
"Good," Jim replied, offering his hand to her again, "Then off we go."

 **END**


End file.
